


Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

by lawn_chair_crisis



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demon!Allison, Demon!Stiles, Multi, basically people get possessed a lot, demon!lydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawn_chair_crisis/pseuds/lawn_chair_crisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of murders in Beacon Hills seem to be the work of something supernatural, but the pack isn't sure what. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean are returning to simpler times, when they just saved people and hunted demons. Their first target is Abaddon. They track her down to the same town that Castiel has developed a sudden interest in. When they reach the city, Sam and Dean meet an old family friend, Chris Argent. And it seems that Abaddon has some serious plans for Beacon Hills. </p><p>(Warnings and Relationships apply to later chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Moths to the Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so let's hope this doesn't suck. I've never even tried to write a crossover, much less one this long. This is unedited so sorry for any mistakes and let me know if you catch anything particularly problematic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some new supernatural guests arrive in Beacon Hills.

“This can’t be right. This dump?” 

The man stood with two women in front of a sign welcoming them to Beacon Hills, California. One of the women stood in front, her smile getting wider as she looked out on the town. Her red hair was up, but a mess, blowing around her face as a storm made its way closer to town. If someone looked closely, they would see stitches around the base of her neck, all the way around. The other woman and the man stood back, watching their leader anxiously. They stayed close to one another. The blonde girl was maybe twenty, and looked the picture of innocence, or she would, if it weren’t for the spray of blood on her shirt. She gripped the arm of the older man. He looked to be in his early thirties, with sharp features and brown skin.

The redhead turned, grin still wide as she looked to her companions. They waited for an answer but the blonde soon spoke up. “Abby?” 

The redhead laughed softly. “Oh Bee, Az, don't tell me can’t you feel it,” she said, spreading her arms wide, letting the energy of the place wash over her. 

The blonde, Az, took a step forward. “I do,” she admitted. “I feel it.”

The man still looked skeptic. “I don’t know, Abaddon. I feel something, but do you really think this is it?”

The smile quickly left the redhead’s face. She dropped her arms, but even with her thin, gaunt features her eyes had a dangerous and maniacal edge that made the man step back a fraction of an inch. 

“You doubt me, Beelzebub?”

“Of course not, my lord. Never.”

She stepped forward and he willed himself to stand still as she raised her hand, but she merely placed it on his cheek gently, fingers brushing the scruff there. “It’s okay, Bee. I understand your hesitance. We’ve all been through so much lately, and your last leader was hardly a reliable one. But remember, I am not Crowley. I will not make his foolish mistakes.”

“I know. I did not mean to question y-“

“Shh. It’s past,” she replied, smiling softly and dropping her hand. “Now, shall we check on our new friend?” she asked.

The three looked to the SUV parked behind them and after a moment Az circled to the trunk of the vehicle. She popped it open and grinned at the bound figure inside, giggling as she pulled the hood from his face. There was still a gag in the man’s mouth. Abbadon and Beelzebub joined her then, smirking down at him. The man, well, he was a teenager really, not much older than eighteen, looked up at them defiantly, but his eyes betrayed him, showing an uneasy fear. 

“Amriel, sweetheart, you look so adorable when you’re angry, you know. That meatsuit really fits you,” said the blonde. She pulled the gag down and the boy glared up at her.

“Keep your filthy hands off of me, Astaroth.”

“That hurts, little brother.” 

“You aren't my sister, you traitorous bitch,” he spat.

“Wow, you’ve been spending too much time down here with the primates huh? I wouldn’t talk so tough if I were you, what with you getting your plug pulled and all.” 

Beelzebub pushed past her and grabbed the boy, pulled him roughly from the back of the car and forced him to walk towards the sign. He nearly tripped several times. 

“How does that feel, Amriel? Being cut off from your precious Heaven?” Astaroth continued as she and Abaddon trailed behind, watching. 

Suddenly Amriel froze, and Beelzebub let him. “What- What is that? I feel…”

“A little bit of a spark? A tiny kick of power? Nice isn’t it? This town is a bit of an anomaly you see. It’s no Heaven, but it lives up to its name.” Abaddon’s voice was silk, gentle and soothing. 

Amriel tried to turn and face her. “But why-“

“Oh Amriel, honey. We just want to help. We thought it might be nice, feeling it one last time,” said Az, her high pitched voice teasing and easy. 

Beelzebub was right behind Amriel, and spoke gruffly into his ear. “You see, if you can feel it, so can the others. And it’s just a matter of time before they come, one by one, unable to help themselves. Like moths to the flame. As of now this town is one giant bug zapper.” He shoved the fallen angel to his knees and the boy struggled to stay upright.

“I wonder,” said Abaddon as she circled in front of Amriel, who was staring off into the distance at the town, at all that promised power. So close, but so very far from him now. She placed a hand on either side of his face, willing him to look at her. Her hands were soft, coaxing. Amriel blinked, looking up just as her eyes turned solid black. “When Heaven’s closed… where do angels go when they die?” she asked, just as she twisted and pulled, hard. With a wet sound and a spray of blood Abaddon was left with his head in her hands as the rest of Amriel’s body fell with a soft thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about the mechanics of actually ripping someone's head off so... don't rip off mine...


	2. Like Our Kind of Thing (Scott's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of quiet, Scott gets a text from Stiles about a rather unusual crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything takes place a few weeks after season 3A. The Alphas are gone, the Darach is dead, and everything has been quiet lately.

Scott McCall stood in the supply cabinet of the veterinarian office. He’d been doing stock all morning, which was about as mundane of a task as a person could ask for and Scott was just fine with that. After everything that had happened with the Darach and the Alpha Pack, having a few weeks of boring normalcy was like an answered prayer for the teenager. 

Of course they all knew it wouldn’t last long. And to think, Beacon Hills used to be a quiet city. Or at least Scott had thought so back in the days of naiveté when he was just a human with asthma and zero social life. But maybe it never really was. After all, the Hales had been here practically forever.

At any rate, a few weeks of monotony were a blessing, especially as Scott was still getting used to his position as Alpha. Well, co-Alpha. Scott was willing to bet that his pack was the only one in the universe with two Alphas and a team of Betas. It worked though. Derek had his strengths and weaknesses, as did Scott, but they complimented one another. Together they made one very competent leader for their ragtag pack. 

Derek had not been thrilled with the idea of having a pack that included humans, even if the Hales had done it before. Scott got the feeling it was more protectiveness than anything. Stiles, Allison, and Lydia were vulnerable, even if they would argue otherwise. 

“Hey Deaton, do we have anymore disinfectant? There’s only like a bottle and half left in here,” Scott called. They would go through that in less than a week. He shuffled through bottles, sure that they had more than that. 

“Check the storage in the back,” Deaton called from the table, which he was currently leaning over as he bandaged a cat’s leg carefully. 

Scott nodded, even though his boss couldn’t see him. He made his way out of the closet and towards the back room, pausing when he felt his phone vibrate. Deaton let him carry his phone on him practically since he’d been bitten. There were too many emergencies to leave it off. 

Stiles had texted him. He went to his inbox and froze, mentally cursing. 

_Dad left for a crime scene this morning._  
 _Body on the edge of town._  
 _Head was ripped off._  
 _Sounds like our kind of thing._

Scott wondered when decapitated bodies became his “sort of thing,” but he guessed it was sometime when Peter was on a murderous rampage. Or maybe when the Kanima was claiming victims. Or maybe when the Darach was sacrificing people. At any rate this wasn’t where he expected his life to be the summer before his senior year. 

He unlocked his keyboard and typed up a short message.

_Meet at the loft._

Scott turned to face his boss, who was watching him with concern. “Stock can wait. I have a feeling that was more important,” said Deaton.

Scott nodded, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door and throwing on his jacket. “Just another emergency as always.”

“Scott!” Deaton called just as he opened the door to leave. “Be careful.”

Scott turned and forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back to finish tomorrow,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be longer after this.


	3. Finding the Bodies (Stiles' POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack meets at the loft and Stiles explains the details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be switching POVs primarily between Scott, Stiles, Derek, and Dean. This one is from Stiles'.

Stiles grabbed his phone from the desk and checked the message from Scott. Derek’s loft had become their unofficial Batcave, as he had taken to calling it. They held every important meeting there and many an awful, dangerous plan had been conceived in its walls. Anyway, Stiles had already expected Scott to tell him to meet there, and imediately forwarded Scott’s message to the others, tagging on the word “Urgent” so that Lydia wouldn’t blow it off. Meanwhile, he grabbed his keys.

The positive thing about his father finally being in on all the werewolf business was that Stiles no longer had to sneak around crime scenes and get himself inevitably caught. Nor did he have to lie through his teeth in order to talk himself out of it. Of course, his dad still kept him away from the scene, because how would that look? But he would give Stiles and the others the rundown if anything seemed to be… out of place. It was great because Stiles didn’t have to resort to stealing his case files or getting him drunk anymore, a win for everyone. 

Of course it meant that the Sheriff was in more danger, which made Stiles physically ill to think about, but actually, that he was more aware of what was really happening could be a good thing. It was hard to know your enemy if you kept believing that it didn’t even exist. So Stiles got over his fear of being honest with his dad and now the man knew all the gruesome details. They were closer than ever, really. 

Stiles pulled up at the loft and took the elevator up. He’d already texted Derek the basics, same as Scott. Now that Derek actually had a cell phone life was much easier. Stiles bought it with his own money after the fiasco a few months ago when they all thought Derek was dead. No way was he letting the pack go suicidal again just because Derek couldn’t pick up a phone. 

He didn’t bother knocking on the door. Not that he ever did. Derek was probably just brooding anyway, God forbid he interrupt the wolf’s daily seventeen hours.   
Instead he found Cora, lifting herself in a pull-up at the bar Derek had installed in her sports bra and yoga pants. He watched her, slightly envious. Stiles wasn’t the picture of physical strength. The last time he’d done pull-ups in gym he couldn’t do more than two, much to Coach’s annoyance. 

“Where’s everyone’s favorite moody werewolf?” he finally asked. 

Cora let herself drop gracefully from the bar. “Derek’s upstairs.” 

Of course Derek Hale never missed the chance to make an entrance. Right on cue he came down the spiral steps, changing from his wolf form to human as he walked, and was completely transformed by the time he reached the floor.

“Stiles, do you understand what knocking is?” he asked, not even looking at the boy.

Stiles pursed his lips. “Yeah, actually. I also understand that you’re a freakin’ werewolf and you probably knew I was here the minute I pulled up.”

Cora and Derek exchanged a look and smirked, leaving Stiles with an exasperated expression. Great, the Hales were not only annoyingly broody and sarcastic; they now apparently had inside jokes. Fantastic. Cora made her way to the stairs. “I’m going to change,” she announced. Stiles was relieved. Her outfit had been rather distracting. _Note to self, add this to the list of Hale qualities: annoyingly attractive physiques. ___

__A moment later Stiles and Derek were alone downstairs. “So any word on-“_ _

__“No.” Derek didn’t even let him finish. What else was new?_ _

__“Okay, just thought I would ask,” Stiles sighed and leaned against the wall, watching as Derek spread a map out on the desk by the windows. It was covered in X’s that must have marked where Derek was sure his uncle wasn’t lurking. “You don’t think this was him, do you?”_ _

__Derek shook his head._ _

__“Yeah, I guess Peter’s style is a bit more… throat slashy,” said Stiles. He leaned over the map beside Derek, biting at the inside of his lip. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, with everything so quiet, and it wasn’t like Stiles could train with the others._ _

__“You know, as messed up as it sounds, I kinda missed this,” Stiles admitted. By “this” he meant having something exciting to do, a puzzle to solve, but he also meant hanging around the pack, even around Derek._ _

__Derek turned to him with wide eyes, clearly about to reply when Isaac walked. “So what’s so urgent?” he asked, looking to Stiles with an eyebrow raised. The expression clearly translated to “did I interrupt something?” but Stiles ignored it, finally pulling his eyes from Derek. They had more important things to worry about._ _

__“Just another brutal murder, a decapitated body, the usual,” Stiles replied with a shrug._ _

__Isaac nodded, looking surprised but not overly alarmed. “And here I thought things might actually calm down after the Alpha pack.”_ _

__Stiles shook his head. “No such luck, my friend.”_ _

__Lydia and Allison entered together, hesitant. They were not always welcome among the pack, at least, not by Derek. But Scott insisted that they were needed, and Stiles had to agree._ _

__“So what happened?” Allison spoke up while Lydia looked like she would rather be anywhere else._ _

__Isaac was the one who answered. “Dead bodies.”_ _

__“Actually just body. The singular. For now,” Stiles corrected him._ _

__“Why is that our problem?” Lydia asked._ _

__“Because the circumstances were a little unusual,” said Stiles. “The police are thinking it was a bear, but given the track record of suspected Beacon Hills animal attacks and actual animal attacks, my guess is it’s not.”_ _

__“And what if it was actually a bear?” Cora’s voice floated down from the stairs as she returned in jeans and flannel._ _

__“Well, it can’t hurt to be prepared can it?” Stiles pointed out, clearly losing patience, as he always did with Derek’s sister. Cora rolled her eyes at him._ _

__Scott entered, his helmet tucked under his arm and his riding gloves and jacket still on. “Stiles is right. How many times are deaths in Beacon Hills really an accident?”_ _

__To Stiles’ surprise, Derek was nodding in agreement. “He has a point. I think it’s better to be sure. So what are the details?” he asked, turning to Stiles._ _

__He stared at Derek with his mouth open for a long second before Lydia cleared her throat loudly, snapping him back to attention. “Sorry I must be hearing things. I thought Derek Hale just said that I have a point."_ _

__"Stiles!" Derek snapped._ _

__"Right! Well, I only know what they told my dad when the station called this morning. He’s supposed to call me with more later. But so far the body was found at the very edge of town. The victim is male, probably somewhere between seventeen and twenty. He was found decapitated, but here’s the weird part-“_ _

__“The fact that decapitation doesn’t even rank as odd with us says a lot,” Lydia commented._ _

__“Lydia did you feel anything last night?” Stiles asked suddenly. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask until that moment, but her Banshee powers were getting stronger since everything with the Darach. Once she stopped fighting everything and accepted what she could do it started becoming a rather useful tool._ _

__She shook her head, biting her lip slightly. “No, nothing. Maybe I’m still not strong enou-“_ _

__“No I think you are, but I think you’re limited. Like the death has to be supernatural, or maybe it has to be in the city.”_ _

__“So you think maybe the victim died outside of Beacon Hills? Someone carried the body into town?” Allison asked._ _

__“I think it’s a definite possibility. But back to the weird part. The victim didn’t have his head cut off. It was ripped off.”_ _

__“Ripped off?” Isaac asked, suddenly much more attentive. “What do you mean, ripped off?”_ _

__“I mean pulled off, like the head off a Ken doll. It was actually pulled from his spine. They found it twenty feet away from the rest of him,” Stiles replied._ _

__Everyone but Derek winced. “Thanks for the mental image,” said Cora._ _

__“What could do that?” asked Allison._ _

__“A wolf could,” said Derek, pushing himself off the table he’d been leaning on._ _

__“Yeah, well, that was one thought I had, but I don’t see why Peter would kill some kid. Especially like that. He does everything for a reason,” Stiles pointed out. “I don’t think this is a wolf at all, but I’ll know more when dad gets back to me.”_ _

__Everyone was quiet, lost in their own thoughts and theories. The room was dark, but buzzing with silent energy. They all wanted answers, and they were all hoping that Stiles was wrong, he could tell. They wanted this to be a bear attack, or even a simple murder. But Stiles was rarely wrong about these things, no matter how much he wished that he was._ _

__"This could be nothing. One's an incident," said Lydia after a long moment._ _

__Stiles sighed. "Yeah, I know, two's coincidence, but you know what else?"_ _

__Everyone's eyes were on Stiles as he leaned with his hands on the desk, knuckles white from gripping it too hard. "I'd rather not wait until we reach three. Aren't you all tired of finding the bodies?"_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seemed to drag. There will be more new information from now on so everything will pick up the pace.


	4. It Would Be So Nice (Dean's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas find something that might help Cas get his grace back. Dean tortures a demon for information on Abaddon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly graphic torture scene toward the end.

As the girl bound to chair at the center of a devil’s trap screamed, Dean tried to remember at which point in his life he became numb to the sound. It would be nice if Dean could say that this was the hardest part of his job. It would be so great if he could follow along with the naïve idea that torture was the hardest thing a person could do and that it was just as horrific and sickening every time. But it wasn’t. It was a simple matter of ignoring that voice in the back of the head that reminded him there was an innocent person in there. Only see the demon. That was key. 

But, this particular demon was a tricky son of a bitch. He’d taken a girl as both his meatsuit and as a hostage. She couldn’t be older than twenty, with a face dotted in freckles and frizzy brown hair that was escaping the braid over her shoulder. Dean was doing an impressive job of ignoring the fact that her beer bottle brown eyes reminded him distinctly of Jo. The demon himself had gone dormant, leaving the girl to suffer in his place, though he was still there, inside her body, waiting it out. Well, that was okay, Dean had all the time in the world. 

“Please. He’s… he’s gone. I swear. I just wanna go home.” He could hear her beyond the metal doors. Her voice was cracking along the lines of panicked and resigned. The demon put her through hell even before Sam and Dean caught up with her, and she’d been through a lot worse since. “Please. I have a fiancé. My mom is in the hospital. My sister just had a baby. Oh, God. They probably think I’m dead. Please just let me go.”

Dean stepped away from the door. The demon was secured in the trap anyway, and the dungeon was as locked tight as it could be. For a peace-loving, knowledge-seeking group, the Men of Letters sure knew how to keep a demon prisoner. In the library of their personal Bat-Cave, Cas and Sam were both pouring over books in ancient languages that Dean had given up trying to understand. Cas looked up as Dean stepped in. 

It had been a few weeks now, but Dean still had trouble getting used to the “new Cas”. Losing his grace meant Cas went through quite a few changes, the simplest but the most jarring of which was his change in wardrobe. He no longer donned the trench coat and suit that Dean practically considered to be the angel’s second skin. Cas said it hadn’t felt right to keep wearing it. Dean couldn’t say why, but he understood, so he left it at that. So now Cas was in a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans they got him at the nearest Goodwill. 

The former angel slammed the book shut and slid it away from him across the table. It hit the floor and Dean sighed softly. As a human Cas was much more easily frustrated. “Still nothing helpful?” Dean ventured a guess. Sam finally looked up from his book. 

A few weeks of rest and getting back to business had done Sammy a lot of good. He was still angry, mostly at himself, over the trials but he was healing. His eyes were no longer lined with bags that made him looked bruised, and his smile even made an occasional appearance now and then. “Well, we did find something, but Cas doesn’t think it will do much good.”

Cas was staring at the bookshelf across from him as if it had been the one that betrayed him and shut down Heaven. Dean gestured for Sam to continue. Even if Cas didn’t think it would help, anything was better than letting him sit around in fuming anger and self-loathing. “They’re called Telluric Currents.”

“Tella-what?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“They’re low frequency electric currents that run underground. Cas says they can work like… angelic batteries, if you can find an area with enough of them.”

“So you’re saying they can give him his mojo back?”

“Not enough to do anything useful. Without Heaven’s power there’s nothing I can do to reverse what happened.” Cas spoke with finality but Dean wasn’t prepared to give up that easily.

“But they could help, I mean, it could be worth a shot. Maybe you could learn something new,” Dean said, stepping into the kitchen to grab a beer for himself. 

“That’s what I said.” Sam called. “Besides, if more angels are out there looking to get their power back, maybe we’ll run into them. We could use all the help we can get, right?”

Dean returned and Cas had relaxed, slightly. “I suppose that is possible. The other angels would be naturally drawn to their power. It’s possible they would seek them out.”

“So do we know where they are?”

“Well, there are stray ones all over, but it seems like we need a concentrated area.” Sam opened his laptop, navigating to a page. “I ran a search, and there are only two really big ones in the US. One is on the east coast, and the biggest is in California. A town called,” he clicked again and scrolled down a page. “Beacon Hills.” 

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Dean asked, popping the bottle cap off using the side of the wooden table. Sam shot him his best ‘you are why we can’t have nice things’ look. 

“Dad’s journal. He helped with a case there once. Werewolves. Remember Chris?” 

“Riiiight. Argent. Dude, his sister,” Dean shook his head and took a swig of his beer. “Girl knew how to handle a gun.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah and as I recall she threatened you with hers, several times.”

Dean grinned. “Yes she did.” 

“I don’t understand. Why is he smiling about that?” Cas asked Sam.

The younger brother only grimaced in reply and shot Dean another look. 

Dean took another long swig of beer before setting the bottle down on the table beside his brother. “Well, time to get back to it I guess,” he said before heading back toward the dungeon, oblivious to the concerned look that Cas and Sam shared.

Dean could tell the moment that he stepped inside that the demon was no longer dormant. It was something in the way the girl sat now, how she held herself.   
“About time, Winchester,” it said. The smirk it wore twisted the girl’s pretty face and Dean felt a tight anger clench his chest. “I thought maybe you forgot all about me.”  
Dean channeled his fury into a smile. “No way sweetheart. This date just started.” He strolled casually to a table set off to the side, an array of tools splayed across it. Each was designed to send a demon to his own personal hell. 

He chose a syringe from the display, filling it in the pitcher of holy water he’d made just for the occasion. 

The demon’s smug expression wilted. 

“You know,” Dean began as he tapped the syringe, pushing the air out. “Demons love to brag about the tortures in hell, but,” he looked up at the demon, “I’d like to think we have even more creative methods topside.” 

The demon tried to look unfazed, but its voice faltered slightly. “At least buy me dinner first, Dean.”

Dean stepped into the devil’s trap. The demon was strapped down with enough traps that even with its strength it wouldn’t be able to touch him. He took her arm, pressing the syringe right into the vein and pressing down the plunger. The scream was immediate and Dean backed away, ignoring the cries of agony tearing through the girls lungs. When the sound stopped and the girl sat gasping for air Dean smiled.

“I’ve got plenty more where that came from. How about we stuff some rock salt down that pretty throat of yours next?”

“I told you I don’t know anything.” The demon’s voice was hoarse. “It’s above my pay grade.”

“Bullshit. I think you know exactly where her royal bitchiness went and exactly what she’s planning. Ruling hell isn’t enough for her, I know she’s up to something else and you’re going to tell me what.”

The demon laughed, the sound bordered on maniacal. “Ruling hell? You don’t know a fucking thing, Dean Winchester.”

Dean leaned over the chair, his face inches from the demon’s. “Where is she?”

“I told you I don’t know.”

Dean pushed off from the chair and walked back to the table, picking up a bag of rock salt. The demon watched as he sauntered back over. He grabbed the girl’s chin, forcing the demon to look at him. “Open wide.”

The demon thrashed, managing to get its chin away from Dean’s grip. “The west coast! Somewhere near the west coast! That’s all I know!” Dean grabbed the chin again and managed to shove a handful of salt inside before holing it shut. The demon thrashed violently and nearly knocked itself over, coughing up salt and blood. It sobbed spitting out what it could onto its own legs and then moaned. “She has,” its voice gave out and it coughed again. “She had two other demons with her, old demons.” It spit out a mouthful of blood. “They’ve been killing fallen angels. That’s all I have. I swear. Please.”


	5. If It Wasn't For You (Derek's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles visit Beacon Hills Memorial to look at the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about what happened with Peter that will be explained over time.

Derek was not fond of hospitals. He and hospitals had a long and annoying history, most of which took place when his uncle was catatonic, and then when he became a murdering psychopath and almost killed him and Stiles. After Cora’s near death experience and the big showdown between them, Jennifer- the _Darach_ , he mentally corrected himself, and the Alpha pack, the werewolf would have been quite comfortable never setting foot in one again. Unfortunately their job required it, often. He climbed out of Stiles’ jeep and looked over the hood as the boy stumbled out of the driver’s seat. After almost a year with the same vehicle one would think that Stiles could get out of it a bit more gracefully, but they would be wrong. “What no bat this time?”

“Oh haha. You leave for a few weeks and you come back with a sense of humor.” Stiles wasn’t actually annoyed though. Derek knows the difference by now, a realization that startled him slightly. In fact, Stiles has been acting strangely patient lately, for Stiles. Ever since Derek returned with Cora to help take care of Peter, the boy has been easier to get along with, less irritating, less fidgety, less argumentative. Perhaps the weirdest part of the situation was that Derek actually kind of missed the old Stiles. The kid was one of the few people that kept Derek in check over the past year, always ready to knock him down a peg if he got ahead of himself.

When they entered the hospital Melissa, in her usual blue-green scrubs, immediately walked over. She was obviously expecting them. Scott must have called her. He and Isaac were checking out the crime scene while Allison and Lydia flipped through the Beastiary with Chris. Meanwhile Cora was searching through Peter’s laptop, which he left behind.

“Hey Mrs. McCall,” said Stiles, awkwardly slipping his hands in his pockets in an attempt to seem casual. He looked just as uncomfortable in this place as Derek felt. Meanwhile the wolf tried to hold his breath as much as possible, feeling ill from the stench of disinfectant, blood, and, well, other things.

Melissa rolled her eyes at Stiles and turned to Derek, who was the clear adult in this situation, even if he rarely felt like it. “I don’t know what you expect to find that the police didn’t.”

“You didn’t notice anything unusual about the body?” Derek asked. He could tell that that there was just by the woman’s body language. Something was bothering her.

Melissa sighed. “Well there was- I could get in so much trouble for this, follow me,” she said, leading the way toward the morgue.

“I’m not a coroner,” Melissa reminded them as she pulled down the sheet under which the body was hidden, head sitting at the top of the table, unattached.  Stiles looked green and quickly tore his eyes from the sight, lips in a tight line. Derek ignored him pointedly. He couldn’t exactly blame him though. The boy wasn’t much older than Stiles himself. “Stiles you don’t-“

Stiles was shaking his head before she finished the question. “No, I’ve never seen him. I don’t think he’s from Beacon Hills,” he replied. Derek’s stomach plummeted momentarily. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Stiles might know the victim.

“I didn’t think so. No one has been reported missing and no one has claimed to know him so far.” Melissa trailed off, looking down at the body sympathetically. Derek frowned, eyebrows pulling together as he did the same. Somewhere, this boy had a family looking for him. Melissa cleared her throat after a moment. “But whatever did this… it was clean. Well, I mean as clean as ripping a head from a body could be. They twisted as they pulled, snapping the spinal cord.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles exclaimed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking deliberately at the wall.

“This was too precise to be a bear attack. There’s no claw marks, no bruising, nothing,” Melissa continued as if he hadn’t interrupted.

Derek nodded. Melissa was right. A bear didn’t have this kind of dexterity. Not that Derek remotely considered that it was actually a bear. They had been waiting for this since the group had brought power back to the Nemeton. The Telluric Currents were stronger than ever. Things were bound to make their way to Beacon Hills now. Not just werewolves or druids either, but things they had never encountered before.

“Well, nothing a bear could cause,” Melissa added. Derek and Stiles both looked up at her. With gloved hands the nurse carefully picked up one of the boy’s arms. Around his wrist was a thick bruise. Derek noticed another around his other wrist.

“Rope marks. He was tied up,” said Derek. Melissa nodded.

“That’s not even the weird part.” Melissa gently turned the body onto its side, until Derek and Stiles could see the boy’s back. Stiles sucked in a breath of surprise.

“Are those… burns?”

Derek didn’t need to hear Melissa’s reply to know that’s exactly what they were. He could smell the charred flesh. There was another scent there as well, but it was too faint to make out. The marks started at the spine and fanned out, covering half the boy’s back. They weren’t bad, not enough to contribute to the cause of death. That was definitely down to the neck being snapped. He was alive until that moment, Derek was sure of it.

“There’s one other thing, and this… I can’t even begin to explain it, unless…” Melissa hesitated.

“Unless what?” Derek asked.

“Unless he’s a wolf.”

Derek shook his head. “No, he’s definitely not. I would smell it on him.”

“Dude that is gross,” Stiles commented.

Melissa returned the body to its original position and gestured for both boys to come and look at the neck, where it had been severed. Stiles looked ill again, but didn’t seem to see anything out of the ordinary. Derek looked closely, however, and sighed. “I don’t think he was human.”

Stiles mouth dropped open. “What? How can you tell that? I thought you said he wasn’t a wolf.”

Melissa grimaced. “The neck, Stiles, look at where the skin was broken, anything seem odd?”

After a long moment Stiles’ eyes lit up with the familiar expression he got when he figured something out. Derek couldn’t help thinking that that look really shouldn’t be so familiar. “He was healing. After his head was ripped off he started healing.” Stiles looked to Derek, eyes wide. “Not even a wolf could that, could it?”

Derek shook his head. “Not that it worked anyway. He’s still dead. It was like his body was making one last attempt to keep living, even when he didn’t stand a chance.”

Melissa covered the body again and led them out of the morgue. “Thanks again Mrs. McCall,” said Stiles.

“Sure thing just uh, don’t let my ex-husband know I let you in there,” she replied as they walked back toward the exit. “Speaking of that, how are you going to keep this up with the FBI breathing down John’s neck?”

Stiles scratched the back of his neck and pulled a face. “Very carefully.”

Melissa shot him something Derek could only classify as a “mom look” and sighed. “Just, do me a favor and don’t get yourselves or my son detained by the federal government, please.”

Derek had almost forgotten about Agent McCall, though he was sure no one else had. Having a federal agent around would make everything a lot more difficult. It figured that even after telling the Sheriff the truth they still had to keep lying and avoiding the authorities. If anything it was going to be more difficult now. Agent McCall wasn’t John Stilinski. He didn’t seem like a very understanding or forgiving father. He nodded to Melissa.

“Don’t look at me,” said Stiles as they reached the glass doors. “Derek’s the one the criminal record.”

Derek glared. As if that needed to be brought up. Stiles was out the door before Derek or Melissa could reply though, and Derek flashed the woman an apologetic look before following the boy.

Once they were both in the car Derek looked to Stiles, noticing his movements for the first time. He was shaking as he went to put the key in the ignition.

“Stiles?”

He looked up, eyebrow raised in question.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, turning on the engine.

Derek could sense that he wasn’t finished, so he sat patiently, waiting.

“It’s just- people are dying again and I actually- I said I missed this this morning. How sick is that?” he said, staring out the windshield at the hospital. “I mean it’s not like I _like_ that people are getting murdered I just- sometimes I feel like this is the only time I matter. When I’m solving a puzzle. I’m not a wolf, I can’t do what you guys can do but I can do this. The thing is- it’s not a puzzle. These are real lives being taken and I’m treating it like a game half the time.”

There were tears in his eyes and Derek was silent for a long moment. Most of the time Stiles was a pain, but he could usually count on the kid to be the comic relief, the one making the situation seem lighter. Sometimes it was easy to forget how hard Stiles had it, and how little he complained despite that. He was risking himself more than any of them. “Stiles, you’re doing the best you can. You shouldn’t get upset at yourself for that.”

Stiles finally looked at him, mouth hanging open in a clear gesture of surprise. Derek looked away from him, biting at the inside of his lip and wishing he hadn’t said anything. Comforting people had never been a skill of his. His next words spilled out without his permission. “Besides, I’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for you.”

It was true, but he never meant to say it. He didn’t want Stiles to know how aware he was of what the boy had done for him. It was hard to forget though, even if it had just been to save his own skin in the end, which was still what Derek thought. After all, why else would Stiles care one way or another what happened to Derek? It wasn’t like was good for anything else.

“Did you just- did Derek Hale just admit-“

“Just drive the car Stiles.”

He did. About fifteen minutes of awkward silence later they pulled up in front of Derek’s loft. He pulled the door open and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

“Derek.”

The werewolf paused on his way to the building as Stiles called out his window. He turned, waiting.

“When I said that stuff this morning, what I didn’t say, what I wanted to say was, I missed you. I’m glad you’re back, dude.”

Derek was so surprised that he couldn’t think of anything to say, but it didn’t matter, Stiles was already driving away, leaving the words stuck in throat with nowhere to go. “Me too.”


End file.
